


Boundaries

by ShatteredSwallowtail



Series: 30 Moments of Passion [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail





	Boundaries

"WILL YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR DAMNED LIFE!?"

"NO I WILL NOT SHUT UP, AND DON'T YOU DARE THINK YOU CAN TELL ME TO!"

It was really a typical fight, at least for them. The screaming, the yelling, the getting in each other's faces. Hell, even the punches and kicks -- at least on her end -- were what passed as normal between them. All over some relatively mundane thing, as simple as the fact that he'd -- yet again -- gone running off half-cocked and nearly gotten his orange-headed ass _killed_ while she had to play damage control and bail him out. _Again_. Nothing unusual there. There wasn't even anything that unusual in the haughty lift of Rukia's chin, the way her violet eyes spat fire at him that matched the answering blaze behind his scowl as he loomed over her, using his height to what advantage he could, earning him another lash of her sandaled foot against his already-bruised shins.

His own fault, trying to use that tactic on her. She'd expected it, just as she'd expected the muffled curse at the impact, and the string of insults he'd flung back at her. No, what she hadn't expected, nigh _couldn't_ have predicted, was how they had gone -- in the blink of an eye, at least that's how it seemed -- from screaming at each other, to their current position. Not that it was entirely unpleasent.

Rukia wasn't even sure who had initiated it, who had made the initial move that got them into this predicament, only that there had been a sudden and almost instantaneous shift from standing on her tiptoes to yell as much in his face as she could while he yelled back to the hard impact of her back against the brick wall behind her, his mouth on hers, hands tugging at the front of her shihakushou. Or, for that matter, why her tongue was doing as much exploring as his was, or how her hands had gotten so twined into his hair that she could nearly feel orange strands cutting into skin.

And conscious thought was quickly being lost as Ichigo's mouth shifted, slanting over hers to deepen the kiss, that same kind of breathless urgency never slaking and fading away. It was wrong, so very wrong, to be enjoying it so much, to be giving into something she'd only half-realized was there. Breaking so many rules and skating right through the danger zone, up against a wall with a _Vaizard_ \-- how the hell had he really kept that from her for so long, the bastard -- with no clear boundaries being maintained. It was wrong, so wrong and against all the rules that she lived by, all the things that she, as a shinigami, stood for, but oh god if it was so wrong then why did it feel so _good_, so _right_?

She was thinking too much -- hell, thinking at all right now was too much -- as much as his brain tried to tell him otherwise, tried to tell him that they shouldn't be doing this again, that it should have been the one time and the one time only, a mistake and shouldn't be repeated. But that had been before he'd gotten a taste, before he'd know what she felt like, smelled like, how soft her skin was and the way her mouth tasted like vanilla and sunshine. And something about her had sparked a lit fuse, set fire to a wick that he'd known had been burning, known had been there in the back of his mind but he'd always kept it shaded, hidden. Knowing that she'd tell him no, tell him it was wrong, that they couldn't, that it wasn't allowed. That her world would reject it, and he should as well.

Or at least, that's what he might have been thinking, were he thinking at all, rather then focusing his attention on getting as much of that sunshiney-vanilla taste as he could, hands wound tightly around her waist and sliding up to caress curves he'd had to admit she did indeed possess -- just... small ones -- through the black fabric with a groan, his own body weight keeping her pinned to the wall. He couldn't _take_ it anymore, not since she'd ruined him for anyone else, given him such a tantalizing little morsel, enough to lure him in and then sent him spiraling straight to heaven only to take it away again, telling him it shouldn't have happened, that he should forget about it.

And just HOW was he supposed to do that? Tearing mouth from hers, he fastened lips against the angle of her jaw, nipping and biting along the ridge of her jawline to run his tongue along the shell of her ear, biting back a groan at the way she shuddered beneath him. There wasn't even time to smirk as he pulled her earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it, teeth nipping softly at skin. The hell, was she _surprised_ that he actually _knew what he was doing_ now? Did she somehow not realize that ever since that one afternoon, he hadn't been able to think of anything _else_?!

With a low growl of her name, he pushed harder, pinning her tighter to the wall, and bit down on the side of her neck, determined to leave his mark on her skin. Dammit, if she was going to ruin him for anyone else, make it so he couldn't even _sleep_ at night without visions of her flitting through his mind, then he was gonna make damned sure he wasn't the only one. Warm emotions and fuzzy sentiments could go to hell right now, he'd worry about those later. Right now... there were baser needs to be assauged.

It was probably her fault -- at least partially -- but that didn't mean she hadn't expected him to actually let it go, to move on and get on with things. That one time wasn't meant to happen, it just HAD, and it had been her fault to begin with, seeing as she'd been the one who'd crawled into his lap -- hardly even thinking about what she was doing, just that she _wanted it_ right then -- and claimed his mouth for her own. And things had just spiraled from there, seeing as she'd never expected him to actually respond, to actually return the affection that had escaped it's tightly-closed bottle.

Damned teenage hormones, she probably should have anticipated this, considering the way he'd looked at her when she'd told him just to forget it had ever happened. And he'd obviously done some research, given that his initial clumsy and downright confused demeanor had vanished completely. Arching her neck back involuntarily as his lips and teeth trailed fire along her skin, she couldn't help the soft little moan that escaped her throat as he bit down on her neck, or the way nails dug into his scalp. Eyelids dropped closed, reveling in the way any touch from him always sent chills down her spine. It was still wrong, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to stop it, to care that she was breaking the rules again, taking yet another step into dangerous territory.

Working one hand into the neckline of her kosode, he gave it a tug, yanking it off of one shoulder, lips and teeth following the cloth to explore more of her skin, other hand hooking around behind her backside to lift her up to where he could press her against the wall, hips grinding against hers automatically, responding to the simple need that he'd been holding in for weeks since then. Silding hand down from her shoulder to slip inside black and white fabric, he cupped a hand over her breast with a rough squeeze, thumb rubbing over stiffened nipple for a moment before mouth replaced hands and he sucked the erect peak into his mouth, tongue lapping at sensitive flesh.

Arching her back with a whine, she bit her lower lip hard to stifle the moan that spiraled up from within, shuddering under his ministrations for a moment until her hands slid to cup his face and pull his head back up to where she could attack his mouth with her own, throwing all hesitance to the wind as hands slid under the neck of his robes, shoving them off his shoulders so that she could nip her way down to his collarbones in mimicry of his mouth's earlier path.

Growling low in his throat again, Ichigo choked back a groan as her fingertips and then her lips trailed little patterns down his throat and across his shoulders, hands spasming slightly as he raked them down her torso, not even bothering with the rest of her clothes. They were in the way, but right now it was the bottom half that was the most bothersome. Hooking a finger in the ties on her hakama, he buried his face in her shoulder with a groan, lips finding and caressing any skin in their reach. A quick yank and the tie broke -- she'd kick his ass for that later, but he didn't care -- and heavy black fabric pooled on the ground as he went to town on his own irritating clothing.

She should have been mad, should have punched him for that -- how the hell was she supposed to fix those anyway? -- but that sentiment was lost as he pinned her even tighter to the wall, ravaging her neck and shoulders with his mouth, hungry and needful and everything she'd been craving ever since she'd turned her back on him and told him to just forget about it all. Forget about the chemistry that they both knew blazed wildly out of control between them, forget about the way he'd begged her not to stop that delicously slow rhythem, hands gripping her hips as she'd panted his name, riding him, rocking them both to paradise.

Feeling the sudden chill of air as fabric fell away, as his hands swept along her thights to her hips momentarily before vanishing -- she knew -- to his own hakama, nearly frantic with the need to get barriers out of the way and slake the desire, the need, the bottled up emotion that they'd unwittingly unleashed on themselves. Her ears registered the faint sound of his hakama hitting the concrete, and as his hands gripped her hips, lifting her up just long enough to bury himself to the hilt in one quick stroke, the only thought she had time for was that thankfully like this, no one could probably see them.

Low groan mixing with her name as he felt her wet heat envelope him, Ichigo bit down again on her shoulder, pulling her legs up and around to wrap around his waist, fingers dug into her hips hard enough he was certain she'd complain about the bruises the next morning. Bowing his head, forehead against her shoulder, he gritted his teeth, driving into her again and again, hard and rough, too overcome with need to be gentle, careful. Not that Rukia seemed to mind, not with the way she was moaning in his ear, crying out his name in soft little whimpers, her legs tightening around him to pull him even further into that slick, tight heat as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

She was like a drug, an intoxicating, maddening, exotic drug, and he was addicted as surely as he knew the sky was blue. He needed her, craved her, sat up at night staring at the ceiling, glaring hungrily at that closet door and fantasizing about simply dragging her out and having her right there in the middle of the floor. Biting down on her shoulder, he panted against her skin, moving faster, pumping into her as hard and as deep as he could, needing to hear more of her breathless moans and keening encouragements. It was the only time, really, that he'd ever heard her beg, and even then it wasn't really begging. She was still giving orders, but it didn't matter, all that mattered was the tightening in his belly, the building tension he could feel, the way she trembled and her nails cut crescents into his shoulders, the way her hips ground against his, sending them higher, farther along that path until he felt her stiffen, felt muscles and that intense, mind-searing heat tighten around him as she groaned out his name in his ear, following her over that edge with a growl and a moan, burying himself as far within her as he could, body spasming and jerking with the force of his release.

Shaking, gasping for breath, all she could do was cling to him, arms wound tightly around his neck, ankles locked at the small of his back as he panted against her shoulder, his weight the only thing holding them up, keeping them from sagging to the ground in a boneless heap of exhaustion. Things would go back to normal soon. They'd get dressed and she'd put the mask back on, once again tell him they can't do this. That it's wrong, forbidden. That it is a path with a dead-end, that they can't keep walking. But just like he knows, she knew they can only fight this for so long. That eventually it would get to them, and they'd once again find themselves victims of their own desires. But for now, she could stop thinking about that. Stop thinking, and steal just a few moments to rest her head against his chest and sigh, the faintest ghost of a smile on her face, and pretend that the forbidden was in reach.


End file.
